Name: Charlotte Ryan
Aliases: Charlie, Harley, Char
Birthdate/Age: June 16th/29 years old
Family: John and Stella Ryan, divorced before she turned sixteen; her father deceased; a younger sister Brittany.
Profession: Tattoo artist
Human/Succubus hybrid.
{At the age of nine, she met John and Stella; they had come into the orphanage, looking to adopt because they had tried for so long to have a child of their own and had finally given up. They were an older couple, older than most who came into the orphanage, but they hadn’t intended to adopt an infant. She finally had a home, a family that called her theirs after being moved around from family to family, but unfortunately the feeling of being part of a happy family didn’t last long. Within a couple years, the couple that adopted her successfully had a biological child; a blonde little girl who became her mother’s favorite.
Jealousy, anger, and even sadness overwhelmed Charlotte at times in ways no normal person dealt with; the extension of her fangs never stayed hidden long after her chestnut eyes became overwhelmingly dark, almost black, reactions her mother came to shun her over because Charlotte was no longer the perfect child her mother wanted, even going as far to refer to Charlotte as the “devil’s child”; she couldn’t control those reactions nor did she ever understand them, but it was “normal” and the man she lovingly came to call “dad” had somehow accepted her when his wife and biological daughter didn’t. Charlotte was still their child no matter how her emotions became the darkness her mother feared, although at times almost as uncontrollable as the changing tides of the sea and he was the reason she never went back to that orphanage. Charlotte never once knew her biological mother or father, but the woman who had been the only mother she’d ever known always took her chance to remind the young girl that she wasn’t her child, almost making her feel like she was an outcast in a family she thought loved her. Charlotte only stayed closer to her dad, flourishing on his praises and love throughout her adolescence; her dad only encouraged every dream she had, even investing his money in her apprenticeship with an old friend, a tattoo artist after he saw the numerous pages of free handed drawings in the pages of a notebook she carried with her throughout most of her young life; tattooing eventually became an escape from the dark buzzing in her mind.
Charlotte was nothing short of devastated when her dad passed away after a long battle with cancer just months after turning twenty; on top of that, she had already been through the break up from hell with a man she not so admiringly called her first love, only trying to find a way out of the small town that wasn’t large enough to hold her ambitions and dreams. She took her dad’s truck, throwing her tattoo gun, inks, and wardrobe in her bags before the pussy of a man could come back to the apartment they had shared over the past couple years; she didn’t think he needed to know she was leaving after everything felt as if it was crashing around her and the one little fact that he had been sleeping at her sister’s only made it that much easier to escape. The Harley Davidson parked in her driveway was the last thing she strapped into the full bed of the truck, cranking the diesel engine over, roaring to life before it idled steadily, the engine warming up that cold January morning; she took one last look through the cluttered apartment, grabbing a bag from under the small sink to snatch the last bottle of whiskey left sitting on top of the fridge. She headed out the front door, slipping the plastic bag over her arm, hanging from her bent elbow to take the apartment key from the sugar skull key ring that dangled from her jingling keys, dropping it on the paved balcony with a crumpled note for the asshole to find.
Everything Charlotte ever needed was packed in the truck and without so much as a second thought, she left South Carolina, never to turn back; she had nothing left in the small town that had only become her home for nine years.
She learned to do piercings during her brief time in Denver only a year or two after leaving South Carolina, almost thinking she found a place to call home, but she was wrong. She still shed the quiet, pained tears for the child she lost to the abusive man that made her swear off relationships; a man that had promised her the world only to destroy her image of perfect, her image of happiness. Love meant nothing to Charlotte because her heart had known too much heartbreak in such a short lifetime; all that mattered to her was what she needed, what she wanted; love was the reason the wall around her heart was so strong, although weather beaten.
The next six years after she left Denver were spent on the road, never staying put in any given place for long, surfing the dingy sheets of cheap hotel rooms and short lease apartments in larger cities, taking a chair in shops that needed practiced tattoo artist, with a couple occasional run-ins with those men any self-respecting daddy’s girl would take home to meet her dad, because a one night stand was all Charlotte ever needed no matter how alone she felt in her heart. Throughout her time, travelling the curves of the road on the saddle of her purring Harley, one thing would always be a glimmer in her mind; she always wished to learn more of the darkness she had so long harnessed within herself, whether it be a weakness or her greatest strength is only the beginning.}
Aliases: Charlie, Harley, Char
Birthdate/Age: June 16th/29 years old
Family: John and Stella Ryan, divorced before she turned sixteen; her father deceased; a younger sister Brittany.
Profession: Tattoo artist
Human/Succubus hybrid.
{At the age of nine, she met John and Stella; they had come into the orphanage, looking to adopt because they had tried for so long to have a child of their own and had finally given up. They were an older couple, older than most who came into the orphanage, but they hadn’t intended to adopt an infant. She finally had a home, a family that called her theirs after being moved around from family to family, but unfortunately the feeling of being part of a happy family didn’t last long. Within a couple years, the couple that adopted her successfully had a biological child; a blonde little girl who became her mother’s favorite.
Jealousy, anger, and even sadness overwhelmed Charlotte at times in ways no normal person dealt with; the extension of her fangs never stayed hidden long after her chestnut eyes became overwhelmingly dark, almost black, reactions her mother came to shun her over because Charlotte was no longer the perfect child her mother wanted, even going as far to refer to Charlotte as the “devil’s child”; she couldn’t control those reactions nor did she ever understand them, but it was “normal” and the man she lovingly came to call “dad” had somehow accepted her when his wife and biological daughter didn’t. Charlotte was still their child no matter how her emotions became the darkness her mother feared, although at times almost as uncontrollable as the changing tides of the sea and he was the reason she never went back to that orphanage. Charlotte never once knew her biological mother or father, but the woman who had been the only mother she’d ever known always took her chance to remind the young girl that she wasn’t her child, almost making her feel like she was an outcast in a family she thought loved her. Charlotte only stayed closer to her dad, flourishing on his praises and love throughout her adolescence; her dad only encouraged every dream she had, even investing his money in her apprenticeship with an old friend, a tattoo artist after he saw the numerous pages of free handed drawings in the pages of a notebook she carried with her throughout most of her young life; tattooing eventually became an escape from the dark buzzing in her mind.
Charlotte was nothing short of devastated when her dad passed away after a long battle with cancer just months after turning twenty; on top of that, she had already been through the break up from hell with a man she not so admiringly called her first love, only trying to find a way out of the small town that wasn’t large enough to hold her ambitions and dreams. She took her dad’s truck, throwing her tattoo gun, inks, and wardrobe in her bags before the pussy of a man could come back to the apartment they had shared over the past couple years; she didn’t think he needed to know she was leaving after everything felt as if it was crashing around her and the one little fact that he had been sleeping at her sister’s only made it that much easier to escape. The Harley Davidson parked in her driveway was the last thing she strapped into the full bed of the truck, cranking the diesel engine over, roaring to life before it idled steadily, the engine warming up that cold January morning; she took one last look through the cluttered apartment, grabbing a bag from under the small sink to snatch the last bottle of whiskey left sitting on top of the fridge. She headed out the front door, slipping the plastic bag over her arm, hanging from her bent elbow to take the apartment key from the sugar skull key ring that dangled from her jingling keys, dropping it on the paved balcony with a crumpled note for the asshole to find.
Everything Charlotte ever needed was packed in the truck and without so much as a second thought, she left South Carolina, never to turn back; she had nothing left in the small town that had only become her home for nine years.
She learned to do piercings during her brief time in Denver only a year or two after leaving South Carolina, almost thinking she found a place to call home, but she was wrong. She still shed the quiet, pained tears for the child she lost to the abusive man that made her swear off relationships; a man that had promised her the world only to destroy her image of perfect, her image of happiness. Love meant nothing to Charlotte because her heart had known too much heartbreak in such a short lifetime; all that mattered to her was what she needed, what she wanted; love was the reason the wall around her heart was so strong, although weather beaten.
The next six years after she left Denver were spent on the road, never staying put in any given place for long, surfing the dingy sheets of cheap hotel rooms and short lease apartments in larger cities, taking a chair in shops that needed practiced tattoo artist, with a couple occasional run-ins with those men any self-respecting daddy’s girl would take home to meet her dad, because a one night stand was all Charlotte ever needed no matter how alone she felt in her heart. Throughout her time, travelling the curves of the road on the saddle of her purring Harley, one thing would always be a glimmer in her mind; she always wished to learn more of the darkness she had so long harnessed within herself, whether it be a weakness or her greatest strength is only the beginning.}